


Closure

by Kellylogs



Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: F/F, Fanwalkers (Magic: The Gathering), Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26156905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellylogs/pseuds/Kellylogs
Summary: Klara was once a cathar, but after the death of Avacyn and the subsequent chaos, she sparked and planeswalked away. Now she just wants to move on, but things could be difficult if she never confronts what happened.
Kudos: 4





	1. Spark

One can never really appreciate what notions they hold until they have them shattered before their eyes. I used to take for granted that my world was all I knew, that it could survive damn near anything, that my faith in angels was well placed… Well, as I said, you can never really have perspective on such ideas until they’re gone. My name is Klara, once I was a cathar, a guardian of the innocent of Innistrad, and this is the story of how my world was broken.

\---

Fire. Screaming. Blood. Weeping. Death. These were the sights, sounds, and smells I had long since closed out of my conscious mind. If I didn’t I would have lost myself by now. The streets of Thraben were chaos, every man, woman, and child desperate for any sign of hope, any salvation. Though we were, perhaps, just as desperate as them, we cathars stood, tall and sturdy as we could manage, doing everything we could to protect them.

There had been whispers recently, whispers that even in her madness Avacyn had held the cursemute to some extent. That these horrors had at last been unleashed because she was dead, and likely the other archangels with her. I buried the thought, time after time I buried it, but it would not let me be. So many had condemned Avacyn, Gisela, and Bruna after all they had done, and most that did turned to Sigarda in desperation for help. In a rare moment of pause I glanced down at the Sigardan emblem on my breast. I had joined them seeking to protect the innocent, but I still wore a collar of Avacyn pendant below it. I was one of the few that still had hope that Avacyn and the other angels might return to us. As I considered it, I found myself remembering all the good I saw in the angels that fueled my desperate belief they would return to us.

Gisela, in particular, had always meant a great deal to me. She had personally led the angels and cathars that saved my village from an incursion of devils when I was young. She had pointed out my magical potential to the local priests just by glancing at me. That simple acknowledgement from her had sped me into training a cathar. I spent much of my life between ten and twenty learning how to control my magic and mastering the sword. With the directions of my teachers I learned much of healing and other protective magic. In my own time I experimented with more offensively oriented spells, learning to augment my physical strength and even to call fire to my hands. When my instructors found out they had been angry, of course, but not for the reasons I would have expected. They were angrier that I had trained alone and risked my own safety as well as the safety of others than they were about my exploring magic that would help me defend the innocent. After that, my offensive magic became an official part of my education, and I mastered it too. Not long after my twentieth birthday, I joined the ranks of the Moor Chaplains, and perhaps a year later Avacyn had returned. It seemed as though life could not have been any better. And if not for Gisela I would not be who I was. I might not even be alive. My devotion to her in particular had even once earned me a reprimand from a particularly hardline priest that had come to teach as a guest. I could not believe that she would fall, not having seen her grace with my own eyes. It was, by now, a ragged and tattered hope for restoration, but it was still there. I could not believe that Avacyn was gone, that Gisela was dead.

I heard it before I saw it, my reverie broken by the terrible sound. A scream not like the others. Louder, coming from higher up, and cutting straight to the bone. Some terrified part of me did not want to look, but another, more willful part demanded I did. I turned, and above us I saw the most terrifying horror yet. Whatever it was now, it had once been an angel. Wait, no, two angels at least. It had four wings, two heads, and beyond that all I could say to describe the rest of it is that it was a horrific, writhing mass of tentacles. I felt a tear prick the corner of my eye, simply at the idea that such grace could be so defiled. I stood there, petrified in despair. The few of my comrades I had left with me and I were not going to be able to stop this thing. All we had ever done, everyone we had ever saved, all for nothing. In the face of such horrifying might, we were doomed.

The revelation, having taken full form in my mind, actually brought a strange sense of relief. If this was the end, then I would not go quietly. More than any rational thought, more than any hope to survive, that thought drove me onward as I called all the magic I could to my fingertips. They began to glow with holy light and fire, and I felt mana welling up through the land to answer my call. If my old instructors could see me now, they would have my head for sloppy technique, talk my ear off about how I was going to get myself killed. Adrenaline roaring through my system, blood screaming in my ears, I found myself laughing at such thoughts now. Just as I was about to let loose, I saw her.

Thalia, greatest of us all, swooping through the sky on a gryff, slashing and weaving in combat. Those of us on the ground began to cheer, but it was short lived. Thalia and her mount took a nasty slash, and the last we saw of them was the pair falling beneath the rooftops toward the cathedral. The silence was deafening, the moment seemed to last forever as the horrific thing seemed to move down to ensure our leader’s demise. Then came the light. Sigarda had come.

From most of the crowd the cheers went up once more, but before I could join I heard it, an exchange in which Sigarda declared that the thing was “no longer her sisters.” All at once my last hope was snuffed. If that thing was “no longer” Sigarda’s sisters, it could only mean it once had been. And if it had once been her sisters…

I felt despair and agony finally burst free from some dark corner of my heart to which I had so long now confined them. That thing up there, that abomination beyond mortal imaginations, was once Gisela and Bruna. My body felt numb and, though I barely noticed, my hold on my spell began to slip. It couldn’t be true. I couldn’t believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. But, as the battle ensued, the thing called Sigarda sister too, and I fell to my knees, my sword clattering to the pavers beside me. I watched in unrestrained horror as the thing took hold of Sigarda. Finally, it seemed, our last hope was gone. Then, amazingly, came another figure. Glowing wings holding her aloft as she hefted Avacyn’s moonsilver spear. I wanted to cry in joy for a moment, thinking it was Avacyn herself. But the sound died on my lips as I recognized Thalia again. She struck at the thing, eventually freeing Sigarda and bringing it to ground, but I was still fixated on what I had seen and heard. They were gone. They were all gone. Bruna, Avacyn, and even Gisela. As my mind raced and my eyes swam with tears, I never noticed just how badly my control on the as yet uncast spell had slipped.

Never fully under control in the first place, so convinced I was of my doom that I had not bothered, my grip on the magic in my hand slipped away entirely. Fire roared from my fingertips, swirling back in on me as I desperately fought to bring my power under control, but it was no good, I had summoned far too much energy and then held it for far too long. As I realized that it was all but hopeless, as I felt my tears steam rapidly begin to dry from my face, I resigned myself to my fate. The flames closed around me, and Just as I began to feel them burn, something beyond my wildest dreams happened.

I felt a great lurch in my chest, and suddenly where there had been fire there was simply nothing. I had just enough time to look around at what seemed to be an endless void before, as quickly as it had come, it was replaced by a scene that I could scarcely comprehend. I was on the edge of a forest, and before me lay vast farm fields. In the distance, down a long dirt road, I could see what seemed to be a city. But what didn’t make sense was that it seemed to also be some kind of colossal fort, with a keep rising above the rest. The next thing I noticed was that the flames evidently had reached me, as my clothes were now singed and tattered in places. Finally, I noticed a man on a horse with dark skin, a sword at his hip, and wearing a suit of gleaming metal riding toward me down the dirt road. That was the last thing I was to notice for some time, however, as I felt the adrenaline leave my system and the edges of my vision grew dark. I felt myself begin to slump over, but I was out before I actually hit the ground.


	2. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klara wakes up after her horrid ordeal in Thraben, and she slowly begins to realize that she is nowhere she's ever known before...

It was almost peaceful, blissful even, to be unconscious for a while. Even when I first came to, I could hardly recall what I had been through or why I’d passed out in the first place. For one brief, stupid moment I believed that perhaps I was back home, and that it had all been a nightmare. Then I opened my eyes, and reality came crashing down on me. The ceiling above me was stone, and the room lit by soft evening light filtering in through the window above my bed and to the right. I tried to sit up, to get a look out the window and gauge where I was, but as I did I winced, clutching at my stomach. It was then that I noticed my midriff was wrapped in bandages, as was the upper half of my left arm, and that a poultice had been applied to my right cheek. Also, I was wearing only an undershirt and briefs.

As I took stock of my injuries I also scanned around the room for my clothes, noticing a small table, two chairs, a fresh outfit draped over one of the chairs, a lit fireplace, and a heavy wooden door. No sign of my old clothes, however. Panic set in as I realized whoever had undressed me had also removed my collar of Avacyn. I hadn’t even considered it, since nobody back home would have taken it. I looked around again, frantic, and settled only when I saw it on my small bedside table. I snatched it up and held it close to my chest, muttering prayers of thanks and healing out of sheer habit and relief.

As I did, the door opened, and in stepped a dark skinned man in a white tunic, a sword belted at his waist. It took a moment, but I recognized him. This was the man I’d seen riding toward me before I had passed out. He was turned around to talk to someone else, slowly turning and closing the door as he backed into the room, so he didn’t see that I was awake until he’d closed the door completely.

“Oh!” he exclaimed when he did see me, “Thank goodness! The healers were starting to worry you might never wake!”

He took a step forward, and despite the pain in my gut I sprang to my feet, clutching my collar of Avacyn and backing away, trying to maneuver toward the door.

“Whoah, whoah,” the stranger said, holding up his hands and standing still again, “No need for that, friend, I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“Maybe you could explain some things, then,” I said, looking him up and down as I spoke. He seemed to genuinely be standing down. “Where am I, who are you, and why did you bring me here?”

“All quite reasonable, my lady,” the man said, staying still as stone, “I am a knight of the realm, my name is Syr Tristan, and you’re in Castle Ardenvale. I found you on the road about a quarter day’s ride from here, keeled over and badly burned.”

My head swam. I knew what knight meant, of course. It was a title bestowed upon the bravest, most distinguished cathars. A remnant of old nobility. But these other things confused me. I’d never heard of Ardenvale, and castles were the home of vampires, not human beings. Yet the man before me had no fangs, and I didn’t imagine even the vampires would betray our uneasy alliance in the face of everything we’d come together to fight. Certainly not just to kidnap some random cathar like me.

“My lady are you alright?” Tristan broke into my reverie, “Please, at least sit, your wounds are certainly not fully healed yet.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he had a point. Standing was causing a burning pain in my gut, and the initial shot of adrenaline that had pushed me to my feet had worn off by now. I sat back on my bed, but didn’t lie down.

“Alright,” Tristan slowly lowered his hands and relaxed his stance, “Thank you, my lady.”

“Klara,” I said before thinking about it, “My name is Klara.” I brushed a few strands of my black hair out of my face, self conscious in spite of myself. “Tell me, Syr-”

“You may refer to me as Tristan if you prefer, ma’am.”

“Alright then, Tristan, could you tell me what happened to my clothes?”

“Ah, right,” he said, pulling up a seat and settling into it, “They were burned through in several places, hardly more than tattered rags if I’m honest with you, and the healers needed to get to your wounds to help you.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to hold on a mask of neutrality, “Of course.”

“If you don’t mind a question of my own, Klara,” Tristan said, his tone even and calm, “What did that to you? If we’d been in the borderlands I’d have thought perhaps redcaps or some particularly sadistic fae, but we’re in the very heart of the realm, and so such creatures aren’t known to frequent the area in which I found you.”

I turned these new worlds over in my head as well. Redcap, fae, and I returned with new curiosity to how he was using the term realm. I had no idea what these new terms referred to, and I began to wonder if my understanding of the word realm matched his, as he seemed to be referring to some singular thing or place. Finally, after a pause just as long as I felt I could get away with, I answered.

“I did it to myself,” I saw no reason to lie to him, “I was trying to defend myself with magic, and my spell went badly wrong.”

“I see,” said Tristan, his brow furrowing in worry, “But then what were you trying to defend yourself against?”

I thought for a moment, and it began to dawn on me that, perhaps, I was somewhere entirely new. All these odd words, places I’d never heard of, a man that seemed entirely unaware of the horrors that had been my reality for months…

“Klara?”

“I don’t know how I would describe it to you,” I finally said, not meeting his eyes as my theory swirled in my mind, “I think I must have come from very far away, somehow, and I cannot imagine how I could explain what I was fighting.” For a moment, there was silence. Eventually I looked up and met Tristan’s gaze again, and he seemed both skeptical and as though he too were putting together whatever pieces he had.

“Well…” he finally said, “I supposed that would explain the strange heraldry on your burned garments. Nobody knew what those symbols you wore meant. Or that,” he pointed to my collar of Avacyn, which I was still holding to my chest, “For that matter.”

In my mind I became all the more certain, I was somewhere strange and new. I had never met anyone above the age of five before that did not recognize Avacyn’s symbol, and most would also recognize Sigarda’s, no matter the damage.

“Yes, well,” I said, “In that case, I think I think I’ll need some help becoming accustomed to this place. Would you be willing to tell me more?”


End file.
